Behind the wild media scenes at the Beaconsfield mine disaster | Jess Adamson

It started out as a story that captivated the world – but it’s the series of shocking events that followed that left it burned into all of our memories, writes Jess Adamson.

Four men had an incredibly lucky escape over the weekend after a mining accident southwest of Sydney. Somehow, the workers found themselves buried up to their waists in coal, 500 metres below ground.

They were taken to hospital but thankfully are all ok.

The incident, along with a mining blast in Spain last week that killed 5 of its own, took me back to one of the most bizarre stories I’ve ever covered.

The Beaconsfield mine disaster had more twists and turns than any other

assignment I’ve been on.

It happened on Anzac Day 19 years ago and quickly became one of the biggest news stories in the world.

A small earthquake triggered an underground rock fall at the goldmine in northern Tasmania, trapping 3 of the 17 miners underground at the time.

Forty-four-year-old Larry Knight was killed. His colleagues Brant Webb and Todd Russell were found alive 5 days after disaster struck. The pair were trapped in the basket of a tele loader, partly buried under rubble, a kilometre below ground.

I was sent to Beaconsfield a few days into the rescue when it became clear it wasn’t going to be easy to get the men out.

The mine headframe and Heritage Centre in Beaconsfield is now a local tourist attraction. Picture: Gary Ramage

Every major media organisation in the country dispatched multiple crews to the quiet town. The international interest in the story was insatiable and we found ourselves crossing live at all hours of the day with any development big or small.

A 60 Minutes crew, most of them dressed in black suits, drew attention as they wandered around the town asking questions about the mine’s safety record. They looked and behaved like rockstars, rarely interacting with any other media.

The locals avoided eye contact. They didn’t want to talk to us for fear of upsetting the families of the trapped miners.

This was a community in mourning for the loss of Larry Knight, while praying for a miracle for Todd Russell and Brant Webb.

Finding a bed in Beaconsfield was next to impossible. We spent a couple of nights at a local pub but as the numbers of media and others grew, we were moved to the nearby Tamar Valley. That hotel had one of the most spectacular views in Tasmania, but we never saw it – we’d get there in the dark at midnight and return to the mine at 4am to report for breakfast TV shows and evening news in the UK.

By day we edited our stories in hired Winnebagos, there were dozens of them crowding the streets. They weren’t plumbed in, just used as a makeshift office.

Unfortunately, that didn’t stop one high profile presenter from using the toilet, making things pretty uncomfortable for the rest of us.

It was one of the strangest stories to cover because no one knew when it would end.

The longer the rescue effort went on, the more complicated it became. Explosives experts and engineers from all over the world were called upon to help as time and hope was running out. As every day passed, the nation held its breath and waited.

Then-union offical Bill Shorten would shoot to national prominence via his daily updates to the media at Beaconsfield. Picture: AFP Photo/William West

Below ground, in total darkness, Webb and Russell were writing letters to their families on their clothing, singing The Gambler, licking groundwater that seeped through the overhead rock and slowly sharing a muesli bar Webb had in his pocket.

With 200 tonnes of rock above them, they were convinced they would die at any moment.

The moment they were found alive, the entire town rejoiced but getting them proved harder than first thought, gripping each other’s hands each time their brave colleagues tried to blast through the rock.

PVC pipe was used to deliver food and water, letters, a digital camera, dry clothes and music from the Foo Fighters and Kevin Bloody Wilson. The pair requested chips and gravy but on doctor’s orders were sent chicken rolls and tinned fruit.

As the rescue dragged into the second week, competition between media crews was escalating. There was tension about which TV crew would get the “money shot” if and when the miners emerged. Rescuers were having their bags searched daily amid fears they’d be paid to smuggle cameras underground.

Enter Bill Shorten. He was then National Secretary of the Australian Workers Union and took part in daily press conferences, quickly rising to national prominence.

One of those media conferences was in a park near the mine entrance on a sunny Sunday afternoon. Dozens of locals gathered around us to hear the very latest.

Mminers Todd Russell and Brant Webb wave as they emerge from the mine. Picture: Ian Waldie/Getty Images

The images stunned the world. Picture: Ian Waldie/Getty Images

And led to jubilant scenes in Beaconsfield. Picture: Ian Waldie/Getty Images

The mood was grim, the rescuers were having real trouble getting through a section of hard rock. There was a real chance we could be reporting on 3 deaths, not one.

I watched 60 Minutes reporter Richard Carleton ask a question of Matthew Gill about the mine’s safety. Moments later, the veteran journalist stepped back from the media pack, suffered a heart attack and collapsed.

Any bad blood between the media evaporated in that instant. Along with paramedics, we all did what we could that day to save his life, but it wasn’t to be. Minutes later my assignment had shifted from the mine rescue to an obituary for one of Australia’s most prominent journalists.

60 Minutes reporter Richard Carleton at the Beaconsfield Gold seconds before collapsing with a fatal heart attack.

60 Minutes producer Howard Sacre and A Current Affair anchorwoman Tracy Grimshaw wait as paramedics work on Richard Carleton.

We interviewed his distraught colleagues, presenter Tracey Grimshaw and producer Howard Sacre. They were gracious and kind. It was an afternoon I’ll never forget. No one could process what had happened.

Two days later, at 4.27am, the rescuers finally reached Todd Russell and Brant Webb.

At 5.58am, 14 days after becoming trapped, they emerged from their underground hell, alive and remarkably well.

That image of them punching their fists in the air to the cheering crowd as they switched their safety tags to “safe” on the mine out board is forever etched in my mind. Church bells, silent since the end of World War 2, rang in celebration as a fire engine roared through the town with its siren wailing.

Then-Channel Nine chief executive Eddie McGuire at the bar of the Club Hotel with Jeffery Davie, right, in Beaconsfield. Picture: AAP Image/The Examiner, Launceston

I was sent straight to the pub as TV networks broke into programming with extended coverage of the joyful rescue. Every single one of those locals who’d avoided our cameras for a fortnight now wanted to be part of the story.

Many of them had played a part in the rescue, we couldn’t shut them up and it was wonderful.

At 6pm that night I stood on a stool in the pub, ready to cross live to Jane Doyle.

The front bar was still pumping but our cameraman had convinced them to keep the noise down, just for the minute we were on.

I heard the producer’s countdown in my ear, “Coming to you in 6, 5, 4, 3, 2. 1…”

Jane read the introduction but as I began to speak, there was an almighty roar, the crowd erupting in a raucous cheer, drowning me out for at least 10 seconds.

We got through it, only to discover Nine’s Eddie McGuire had walked in and shouted the bar.

It was a fitting end to a story that had it all, tragedy, triumph and a great escape.

Originally published as Behind the wild media scenes at the Beaconsfield mine disaster | Jess Adamson